Pillow Talk
by LoyaulteMeLie
Summary: Post-ep to 'Unexpected'. Dedicated to Frakme, whose wonderful story 'The Enterprise Forum' inspired it.


**Star Trek and all its intellectual property is owned by Paramount/CBS. No infringement intended, no profit made.**

**Beta'd by VesperRegina, to whom I am, as always, deeply indebted.**

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><p>Author's Note: This story was inspired by Chapters 27 and 28 of Frakme's 'The <em>Enterprise<em> Forum'. I endorse absolutely her opinion that the writing of 'Unexpected' left much to be desired, and this is my take on what might have followed.

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><p>Outside Commander Tucker's door, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed hesitated.<p>

He'd have preferred to have got this distasteful business over and done with during duty hours, and he'd done his best to do so. Unfortunately, his superior officer appeared to have more duties than there were hours in the day. Any fleeting moments that he might have had to spare were given over to Sickbay, where Phlox had apparently not finished ensuring he'd fully recovered from the … incident.

Regulations stated that reports about any given incident should be made out within a given time, undoubtedly to ensure that information was set down while memories were still fresh. He was within a few hours of the deadline for the incident concerned, and whilst on the whole he'd very much have preferred to write up an account that glossed over the matter, he felt such conduct was unprofessional. However uncomfortable Commander Tucker might be, however uncomfortable he himself might be at delving into such a personal matter, it was his duty as the ship's security officer to investigate and then set down exactly what had happened on the Xyrillian ship. After all, the commander was privy to a great deal of highly confidential technical information that would be of extreme interest to a great many parties, not all of whom were friendly to Starfleet.

Malcolm Reed was well acquainted with the concept of 'pillow talk'. He'd weaselled a good few secrets out of a bedmate in his time; he knew that with a little care and a certain amount of skill, the donor could be kept barely aware of how much information they were giving away. He hardly knew Commander Tucker, and had little idea of how meticulous he would be in keeping a strict guard over what he let slip in the heat of passion. A man of his rank should certainly have some concept of security issues, but Malcolm had already formed a somewhat poor opinion of his superior's adherence to regulations.

With a sudden movement that was too expressive of his inner anger, he pressed the chime. The chief engineer's folly had exposed the whole ship to danger because they'd had to pursue and provoke a Klingon battle-cruiser; fortunately, the gift of the Xyrillian holographic technology had sufficed to placate the aggressive aliens, and the encounter had passed off without any exchange of fire. But the news of Tucker's 'pregnancy' must have gone around _Enterprise _like wildfire – and if that wasn't bad enough, it was probably being guffawed over at this moment by half the Klingon fleet. So much for proudly representing the best of Starfleet and Planet Earth. It was hardly calculated to imbue the enemy, or even their own crew, with much respect – a senior officer, the head of his department, being 'knocked up' and left in the lurch by a female!

The door hissed open.

Commander Tucker looked tired. To judge by his state of undress he'd been about to go into the shower; a towel was wrapped around his lower half, but his hair and body were still dry. Automatically Malcolm glanced at the place on the ribcage where the foetus had been growing. Phlox, or the Xyrillian doctor, had done a good job – there was barely a sign of a scar.

"So what can I do for ya, Loo-tenant?"

Was he putting it on deliberately, Malcolm wondered? Granted that no-one on his side of the Pond knew how to pronounce 'Lieutenant' properly, surely the years Tucker must have spent in University should have done something to smooth out that redneck accent. Sometimes he suspected it was done just to rile him; that was the sort of thing Commander Tucker would find amusing.

"Sir." He was aware of speaking even more stiffly than usual, but this was because he was so uncomfortable. "I apologise for disturbing you at this hour. I have tried to speak to you before, but it has never been possible."

"Quit makin' the doorstep look untidy. Come on in."

His exhalation was carefully soundless. He stepped into the cabin.

This itself was untidy, which lent the commander's words something of an irony. A well groomed officer standing in the doorway was hardly likely to present the air of (admittedly organised) chaos that the room itself did. He did not look at the notice-board; he could already see with his peripheral vision that it was covered haphazardly in handwritten notes and family photographs. His own was brutally neat, and there was not a single photograph on it.

His host sat on the bunk, indicating that he should take the chair by the desk. He obeyed, careful to keep his posture absolutely upright, and placed the PADD he'd brought with him on the desk-top, ready to record any pertinent details for inclusion in his report.

"I'll guess this isn't a social call, so you'd best spit it out."

Mentally he cursed Tucker's uncontrollable hormones for making this necessary, but there was no trace of that in his voice when he said, "As the security officer for the ship, sir, it falls to me to file a report on any incident that I feel may have possible ramifications in that field."

The blue gaze was uncomprehending, so he ploughed on, maintaining his impassive expression with an effort. "Your … interaction with the Xyrillian female, sir."

The commander's mouth tightened slightly. "What about it?"

Malcolm exhaled, again making sure it was silent. "As distasteful as this is, sir, I have a duty to discover if by any chance you may have revealed anything of a classified nature, or that could be considered to be of a compromising nature by Starfleet."

The other man rose. The anger in his face was clear. "Just what exactly are you sayin', Lieutenant?"

"I'm saying exactly what I have to say in the circumstances, sir." He rose too, and held his ground. He didn't give a toss how angry Tucker was; God damn it, couldn't the man understand that all he'd have to say was that he was prepared to vouch for the fact that he'd given away nothing incriminating, and the matter ould be satisfactorily closed? "I'm following regulations to the letter, and if you refuse to co-operate I'll take the matter to the captain. You have the right to be interviewed in his presence if you so wish, but it's my duty to make due enquiries and I'm certain he will uphold me in that duty. So the choice is yours. Sir."

"So you interpret the regulations as givin' you the right to interrogate everyone who 'interacts' with a member of an alien species? You're gonna have your work cut out after every shore leave, Lieutenant. I hope you enjoy it."

The unjustified scorn stung him, but he controlled himself. "If any such 'interaction' exposes the ship to danger and could possibly compromise Starfleet's interests, sir, then yes, I will 'interrogate' those concerned, and as fully as I judge the situation requires. And whether I 'enjoy it' or not, it's a part of my duties and I'll carry it out, however distasteful I may find it."

Tucker took a step forward. Both in height and bulk he was Malcolm's superior, but that was no matter for concern, though the lieutenant clinically decided what move he'd use to drop him if he was so lost to all sense of professional propriety as to attempt physical violence. He didn't think it was likely – he'd already come to the conclusion that the engineer was terminally good-natured – but instinct occasionally took over in these situations, and he suspected that the other man had an impulsive side.

What might have ensued, however, was destined never to be known. At that moment the door chime went again, and, casting his junior a scorching look, the commander went to answer it. His expression did not bode well for the visitor if the call was an idle one.

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><p>Captain Archer had already surmised that Trip wasn't alone. Although the cabins were reasonably soundproof, the sound of a raised voice would carry through the door.<p>

His chief engineer's expression confirmed his suspicion that the exchange taking place within had not been a cordial one. Beyond him, Lieutenant Reed was standing very rigid, and the white line around his mouth spoke of temper held in check.

Had Malcolm incurred Trip's wrath and been summoned for a dressing-down? It seemed unlikely. The aloof Brit was as careful as a cat in strange surroundings. He crossed every T and dotted every I. It was hard to imagine Trip finding anything worth carpeting him for – unless perhaps he felt that the Armory head was too hard on his subordinates, and had suggested toning his act down a little. That would certainly fit the bill for why the tactical officer was looking both stubborn and angry.

"Anything I need to know about?" he asked mildly, advancing into the room on being invited in. He'd come to enquire after Trip's well-being after his first full day back on duty, and he was a little concerned that his friend's hormones might still be out of balance and affecting his judgment.

"Ask the _loo-tenant _here," growled Trip, gesturing at the silent Englishman, who glared at him. "He's come to find out how many Starfleet secrets I blabbed to Ah'len while I was bustin' the bedsprings with her on the Xyrillian ship."

Jon saw Malcolm go pale with anger and mortification, and decided to intervene before this went any further and caused real trouble.

"Trip, go easy. I know that's the way it must have sounded, but Malcolm has to do his job. If he thought there was a security risk it's his duty to ask the questions. He doesn't know."

"Know what, sir?" Reed was on the word like a terrier pouncing on a rat.

The chief engineer turned away without answering. He sat down on the bunk, his face partly turned towards the wall at the head of it.

"Trip?" prompted Jon gently.

"Aw, go ahead." A muscle moved in the younger man's throat. "It's not like it'll make any difference what he puts in his damn report."

_"Know what, sir?"_

The captain sighed. He'd had to write out his own report on the incident, and it hadn't been easy reducing all the pain that had spilled out of his best friend into the brief, impersonal prose of an official document.

"Commander Tucker did not take part in voluntary sexual intercourse, Malcolm. Or in anything else that he understood at the time to have any sexual significance at all."

"Pebbles." Trip's shoulders moved in what might have been a shrug. Now the hurt and humiliation were obvious, in both his voice and posture. "It was in that hologram stuff I told you about. She was showin' me her homeworld. Then she changed it and we were in this boat. There was a box, between us, with – some kind of pebbles in it. She told me to put my fingers in it, and she did the same, but they didn't touch or anything. Our hands kind of glowed a bit and after a minute we could – could sort of tell what each other was thinkin'. Like what we like eatin' and … stuff." His tone roused briefly from what had become a monotonous recital of the story. "And before you ask, Lieutenant, _not _stuff about the engines or anything else. It wasn't like that. It was just … fun."

"Nothing more than that?" Malcolm's gaze was as sharp as his voice. "You're sure you retained full awareness throughout?"

"Of course I'm sure," he answered wearily.

"You sent a message to _Enterprise _telling the captain that you were having difficulty adjusting to their atmosphere. Did you at any time lose consciousness?"

"I slept. For one hour, as per the cap'n's orders. Fully clothed. That was all it was. Nobody interfered with me; it was just a nap. Believe me, I know _when_ this happened, if not _how_ it happened." Another shrug. "Ah'len said she didn't think it would work with me because I was an alien."

Reed swung around to face the captain. "Sir, I request that we lay in a pursuit course to find the Xyrillians again so that this 'Ah'len' person can answer to a charge of rape!"

Jon's eyes cut to Trip.

"Sir!"

"It wasn't like that, Malcolm. She just thought she was havin' a bit of fun."

"A 'bit of fun' that ended with a potentially life-threatening pregnancy for you and potentially fatal consequences for every member of this ship's crew when we had to provide provocation to that Klingon battle-cruiser – which, taken to its logical conclusion, was an incident which could have destabilised the currently somewhat fragile peace between the Klingon Empire and Earth!" The gray eyes were blazing as he turned back again. "Sir, do you intend to let her just _get away with it?"_

The captain hesitated. Put like that, the whole thing took on a new significance. But as far as he was concerned, this whole issue centered on how Trip wanted to proceed.

"It doesn't matter anyhow," said Trip flatly. "You'd need my consent before you could press charges and I wouldn't give it. And even if you got around that, I'd refuse to give evidence."

"You'd refuse to give evidence against someone who _raped_ you?"Malcolm was almost shouting when he started, but he quickly moderated his voice, doubtless not wishing the conversation to become public property. "With respect. _Sir. _You may not have understood what was happening but according to your account she bloody well did. The fact that she didn't think you could get pregnant from it is neither here nor there. She deliberately and wilfully engaged in a sexual act with you, without your knowledge and without your consent. That, I believe, is the definition of 'rape'. It was committed against you, by your own admission. Exactly _why _do you wish the perpetrator to escape justice? So that she can go on and do the same thing to others – perhaps with far more serious consequences?"

"She was sorry."

_"Sorry!" _Now the lieutenant really did shout. Jon would never have believed that the normally soft-spoken Brit could produce such a volume.

It was evident that Malcolm took a second to regain his normal composure before he turned back to face the captain again. "Sir," he said through gritted teeth, "I believe that formal proceedings can still be instituted against the Xyrillians even without Commander Tucker's consent. There must be sufficient proof in the ship's records, and in their own records, to constitute a case. As head of Security I have the right to access any and all records pertaining to the welfare of a member of this crew, and I can and will search them to provide such proof. It is my formal and professional recommendation that a complaint should be made, via Starfleet, and a demand placed for legal proceedings to be instituted."

"I think you might find yourself running up against Phlox there," Jon said mildly. "There's such a thing as 'patient confidentiality'."

"I believe that even Sickbay's records could be subpoenaed by an investigating court of law, sir."

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><p>At this, Trip turned around and looked at his junior officer with some curiosity.<p>

He'd had Reed written down as a cold fish, for the only passion the man ever seemed to show for anything was for the ship's weaponry. He certainly hadn't expected this sudden eruption of fury.

Although talking things over with Jon had gone a great way towards helping him sort things out in his head, Trip would admit – if only to himself – that he had a lot more sorting out to do before he could lay the situation to rest. It had been a pretty harrowing experience, and now that it was over he'd still been left with a pack of hormones and a whole load of conflicting emotions.

For all that the news of his pregnancy (not to mention the prospect of being a 'working mother') had fairly floored him, he'd come to feel strangely protective of his unexpected passenger. He wanted very much to be a Dad someday, and out of curiosity he'd often lain in his bunk in his off-duty hours both watching and feeling the movement of the growing fetus inside whatever approximation this was of a uterus. He'd become attached to 'it' in far more than the physical sense, and the relief of having 'it' – now found to be a 'her' – removed and placed safely in the body of an appropriate Xyrillian host had been accompanied by an even greater sense of loss. He had his career back, to a certain extent he had his life back to run as he'd always planned it, but there was a strangely hollow feeling to the success.

Jon's compassion, and his honest acknowledgment of his own failure to support his officer and his friend, had helped. They'd had a long talk about what had happened and would most likely have others. But oddly enough, although the captain's understanding and sympathy had been welcome, Malcolm's unexpected anger was heartening. It restored something of Trip's lost sense of self-esteem, of value. It wasn't that he thought that Jon didn't care about what had happened; he knew that he emphatically did care. But maybe it was the necessity for a captain's cool thinking that had channeled Jon's response into focusing on how the victim felt. Malcolm, on the other hand, was more intent on getting justice for the crime that had been committed against him, on striking back against an aggressor.

Maybe that was natural in an armory officer. After all, when you've got some alien blasting pieces out of your ship, the first duty of the guy behind the guns is to return fire as effectively as possible when ordered; there could be little doubt that Reed's favorite maxim was _'Attack is the best form of defense'._ Nevertheless, although Trip was surprised and warmed by the Brit's protective determination to seek legal redress on his behalf, that didn't change his own that doing so would be inappropriate.

"Malcolm," he said quietly, his tone far more moderate now than it had been. "I get what you're tryin' to do. I know you think it's your duty. But I know – I _know – _that what happened to me was just a freak accident.

"And I know what you're gonna say next." He raised a hand to stem the furious protest. "From a legal point of view, yes, it was rape. We won't dress it up nicely. Technically speakin', it was rape. But from a _human _point of view – and that's the only kind I can have, because I'm not Xyrillian – it was just a bit of fun. I wasn't scared, I wasn't hurt, and maybe I should have been a bit more cautious."

"That, sir," replied the Englishman in a voice whose temperature was chillier than that of _Enterprise_'s external hull, "is on a par with a woman saying 'I asked for it by wearing a provocative dress'."

"Maybe," admitted Trip. "But you weren't aboard the Xyrillian ship either time. I'm tellin' you they were _genuinely _horrified it had happened. They'll be tightenin' up the rules a lot from now on. And Trena'l wouldn't talk about it to me any more than Jon would to someone from an alien ship, but I'm pretty sure Ah'len won't be just 'gettin' away with it'. There'll be an investigation, and at a guess that'll mean some sorta punishment – demotion, maybe, or a reprimand or something. She won't be gettin' off scot-free, if that's what you're worried about."

It seemed that it was. Reed's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"In that case, perhaps it isn't necessary to pursue the matter after all," he said unwillingly. "Sirs – it would seem that I can close my report as deeming the encounter with the Xyrillians to have had no security ramifications. I'll take up no more of your time."

He picked up his PADD and moved towards the door, but there he halted. He took a deep breath, and turned back towards Trip.

"There is one more thing, sir. I owe you an apology."

The chief engineer smiled tiredly. "For thinkin' the same thing everyone else was? Forget it."

"No, sir. That in itself was a failure in my duty. I'm not supposed to think 'what everyone else does'. I'm supposed to think _beyond _the obvious. I didn't. I'm ashamed of myself."

"Malcolm," interposed the captain gently, "you could hardly have been blamed for coming to the same conclusion we all did."

"And I owe you one too, sir." Another deep breath. "My conduct on the Bridge was unprofessional and unforgivable. I expect it to be noted in my records."

"Your – what? When?" Jon blinked at him in puzzlement.

"When you were – negotiating with the Klingons, sir. When the commander revealed his– his–"

"Condition," supplied Trip helpfully. He couldn't help it; he was starting to smile, not at the memory – which still smarted – but at Jon's look of bewilderment.

"Condition." The Brit threw him a look of gratitude. "I should have remained at my post, monitoring the Klingon ship, sir. Not gone gawking at my superior officer's _condition_."

"Well, I'll expect it never to happen again," said the captain, straight-faced. "As for entering it in your records, I'll take that under consideration."

"Thank you, sir." Plainly both mollified and chastened, the lieutenant withdrew, and after a moment to allow him time to get clear out of earshot his two superior officers shared a laugh, shaking their heads over his unsparing and oddly endearing honesty.

"Do you think that guy actually _has _a sense of humor?" asked Trip, breaking out a beer for his remaining visitor.

"I haven't seen much evidence of one so far," admitted Jon. "Give him time, though, it's early days yet."

"Five years. I'll drive him nuts long before that. Trust me." He went into the shower; Jon was in civilian clothes so the visit was an informal one. At a guess his friend had received a download of the latest water-polo championship games and was keen to share them. It sounded like a great idea; they'd catch dinner and then settle down for the evening.

"You may have help with that. I hear he's taken to playing chess with Travis."

"Now that could be interestin'." He looked out of the bathroom again and wagged a finger warningly. "I played a few games against that kid when we were waitin' for the protein resequencers to be delivered. Take no notice of that cute smile of his. I'm tellin' you, he's one mean, sly sonofabitch on a chessboard."

"I take it you didn't win." Jon kept his face straight, but his eyes twinkled.

"Win? He took me down in ten moves. And that was my _best _game." He went back into the bathroom and switched on the shower.

As he stepped into the cubicle, he looked thoughtfully at his reflection in the Plexiglas. Today he'd seen a different side to a man whom he'd written down as being almost Vulcan in his aloof self-containment. It seemed that there were unsuspected depths to Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. Maybe during the course of the voyage he'd discover more of them.

It would all be part of the great adventure.

**The End**

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><p><strong>All reviews received with gratitude!<strong>


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